


The Bible Didn’t Mention Us, Not Even Once

by journaliar



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi, OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/journaliar/pseuds/journaliar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knows what would happen, if she let it happen. She knows. She knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bible Didn’t Mention Us, Not Even Once

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I have absolutely no idea what this is beyond a sort of HG/Myka/Pete OT3 fic. I have no idea where the hell it came from.
> 
> A/N2: Per usual, it is not beta’d meaning it is unbeta’d so there will be mistakes and they are all mine. So, people probably don’t have to send me comments containing the basics of grammar. I get that mistakes kind of knock people out of stories but for as much as fic as I produce, I also work at least +45 hrs a week and go to school full time and have no time for proof reading! Though, if someone wanted to take me and my horrible grammar on as my own personal beta I’d be open to it.

Triangles are my favorite shape  
Three points where two lines meet.  
i.

She knows what would happen, if she let it happen. She knows. She knows.

If she reached and stretched too far, snagged her fingers and held on too tight. 

She knows because wanting too much, so much, is nothing new. Not for her.

And it always ends the same way, when she wants, wants, wants and reaches, reaches, reaches until she touches.

With a bang.

Power. Heat. Disintegration. Dissolution.

(Just ask Sam.) 

So she just watches with so much longing but her hands stay tucked carefully away where they can’t reach out, where her fingers can’t extend and try to touch, where they can’t trigger the bang.

Myka knows what would happen if she let it happen.

It would end in a bang.

 

ii.

She’s so careful.

So of course, this time, it starts with a bang.

Later, she might laugh about that but right now…

iii.

She dies…technically.

Her heart does stop, stall, fail to beat behind her ribs for too long but there isn’t any blinding white light or even scalding flames licking at her skin, only darkness and nothing .

She’s not sure if it counts.

(There was no Sam so it probably doesn‘t.)

Then she’s gasping for air, spread out on the hard dirt like a sacrifice, surrounded by broken shards of clay that used to be the original Baghdad Battery and white smoke wafting from her upturned hands while Pete’s stares down at her with wild, panicked eyes.

He screams her name, she can make out the syllables on his lips and the tight pull of neck muscles but her ears are full of static and his hands cup her face too hard, gritty sand clinging to his hot palms. Then Helena is there, stumbling to her knees beside her, eyes filled with tears.

Myka thinks of the soft, pale skin of Helena’s knees ripping open on the hard earth.

Pete’s telling her to breathe, yelling at her to take a breath, with his face so close to hers and she can barely hear but she does what he says, dragging in a mouthful of air that was once his. It is simultaneously painful and like relief but she does it again, repeat, repeat, while Helena tries to speak through gritted teeth and wet eyes, Farnsworth open in her hands.

Myka’s legs are moving restlessly against the ground, heels carving deep, desperate grooves in the sand, as pain lances through her arms, her chest, her head. Sharp and unfamiliar. If she could scream she would but she can’t seem to get her body to do what she wants it to, like she’s short circuited or maybe blown a fuse and now her brain and limbs aren’t connected properly.

She tries to tell Pete but her words are a thick, slurred, wet sound and Pete just looks so scared.

“It’s okay.” Pete keeps saying over and over. “You’re okay.”

She stuck, she thinks, between living and dying. 

“Don’t you dare leave.” Helena’s voice is fierce and Myka tries. She tries.

But she feels herself sinking away from them with Pete’s hands holding her jaw and Helena demanding her to stay.  
iv.

 

It’s not like waking up from a deep sleep, with that slow assent to awareness and the sometimes comforting, other times frustrating, realization that the place she’d just been was nothing more than a dream. Instead its like waking from a reverie, sudden and jolting in a way that leaves her scrambling for her bearings while the world goes on around her. 

Myka’s eyes are open and its like surfacing from the bottom of a chlorinated pool.

She blinks. Then screams.

Her eyes are bleary and there are people over her, masked and obscure. Her hands shoot out to grapple with the fingers pulling at her skin, prodding under her muscles, gripping at her bone.

(“Damn, you’ve got some quick hands.” Pete grins at Myka as she flicks another puck into the goal across the ice. His skates make a soft, gentle noise on the ice as he glides around her in a wobbly circle. 

“I’ll teach you sometime.” Myka smiles, the movement tight in her cold cheeks while something with huge wings flickers up behind her ribs.

He stops behind her, a warm and solid presence. He doesn‘t touch her but her eyes flutter shut anyway.

“I‘m looking forward to that.” He says and she can hear that he‘s not smiling anymore.)

“Don’t fight them.” Hands on her face direct her eyes and Pete is there again. “They’re trying to help. Don’t fight them Mykes.” 

She wants to tell him that the bones in her arms feel like they’re split down to the marrow, that her muscles feel scorched and blistered, that it hurts. But there’s a mask on her face and grey clouding her vision. She can’t remember how to make her lips part around the words anyway.

She thinks of Pete’s silly grin and cold, wobbly circles. 

There’s a sharp pain in her side, deep and probing and Pete watches with steady eyes while she screams into the mask.

It catches the sound.

v.

She dreams of Helena.

Brilliant and beautiful with her pulse pounding in her neck and her mouth pulled in a wide smile.

“What are you doing?” She asks as if Myka is being goofy and childish. Voice quiet with affection, as soft as her pale, pale skin. “What’re you doing over there?”

There’s a fence, chain link and sturdy and Helena watches Myka in amusement from the other side. Helena’s fingers curl around the metal, wriggling them at her through the hole, reaching. “You’d reach me if you tried, I think. I‘m so close.” 

Myka doesn’t try. She wants to but she doesn’t. Isn’t even sure if she has a body in this moment. 

She doesn’t even try.

“Courage is a peculiar kind of fear.” Helena grins, weight sinking against the fence as her fingers curl and it bends a little under her weight, cradling her body while she beams at Myka through the holes. “Isn’t it?”

vi.  
“I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Myka’s been working in Warehouse 13 long enough to know that that is never ever a good thing.

Except. Except. Except.

(“I’ve never seen anything like this.” Helena’s eyes shine with awe as she flips the digital camera over and over in her hands. “Never even dreamed of it.”

“I’m sure you would’ve. Eventually.” Myka offers, from her position perched on the kitchen counter. Watching with what she knows is longing, crushed and repressed but ever unfolding, in her belly.

Helena only gazes at her with dark eyes for a moment, soft and thoughtful before lifting the camera and capturing her image. 

“Some people believe that pictures capture the soul for eternity.” Myka whispers softly and Helena only smiles and tips her head.

“Then I shall keep you near till the end of time.”)

“ It’s not the same.” Artie is barking, panicked. “It’s not like being bronzed. It’ll follow the path the initial current traveled through her body, anything that was touched or damaged…her organs…her lungs…her-her heart. It will all shut down if we don’t do something about it.” 

Myka surges slowly to life with a gasp and swimming, smeared vision.

Something is wrong with her eyes, she thinks. Something wrong with her body too.

She tries to flex her fingers but can’t.

“She’s waking up.” Claudia whispers and Myka hazily takes in her surroundings the best she can. The room is bleached clean white and filled with a staccato electronic beep beep beep. 

“Hey.” Claudia murmurs softly, face hovering in front of her.

“Hey.” Myka manages through the mask covering her nose and mouth while Claudia’s pretty face crumples. “I’m dying?”

There’s a hard sob somewhere in the room and then Artie’s booming voice. 

“No one is dying!” He bellows before storming out of the door. She knows that means there’s a really good chance she is dying. 

She wonders what it’ll be like to be gone.

She thinks of Sam.

She thinks of Helena.

She thinks of Pete.

“You’re gonna be okay.” Claudia chokes and Myka catches sight of the palm of her hand, a shining, silvery burn scorched across her palm.

vii.

This time she dreams of Pete and her own body.

His warm presence nearby.

They’re sitting back to back, the hard lines of that fence digging into her spine. She can feel him breathe, shift, sigh. 

“I see you, ya know.” He says it like an inside joke and Myka pulls her legs to her chest, dropping her forehead to her knees and shutting her eyes. “You think I don’t but I do.” 

Myka opens her eyes then, blinks down at her body and instead of flesh and blood she sees that she is crystalline. Her veins and bones are transparent but right there in her chest beats her heart. Slick and red and obvious. 

A finger, his finger, trips down her spine, then back up, path interrupted by the wire of the fence. It feels like power against her crystalloid flesh. 

“Have the courage to live. Anyone can die.” Pete murmurs so sweetly, fingertip circling the jutting bony ridge of her backbone. “Even you Mykes.”

viii.

 

The worlds moving. 

Or she is.

It’s hard to tell really until there’s a quick, steady heartbeat against her ear and breath huffing passed her ear.

“Don’t fight me, Mykes.” Pete hisses as soon as she attempts to twist out of his arms, his grip on her tightening. “It’s Pete. Don’t fight me.”

“What’s happening?” She slurs, chest heaving with shallow, painful breathes. 

(“What’s happening?” She exhales shakily, hands curled around the edge of the counter top while Pete presses his lips to her neck. “What’re you…?” 

Her voice hitches and trails off into nothing because his lips are like magic against her skin and she knows what’s happening as his hands curves around her throat and guides her around to face him. 

She can practically hear the impending detonation. It sounds familiar. 

She knows how this will end. She knows. She knows. She knows. 

Myka turns and kisses Pete in the darkened kitchen of the B&B and it tastes like fulfillment and burns hot like imminent doom. 

She cups his neck as he shoves her against the table, wooden legs screeching against the hardwood floor, hands fumbling with the drawstring of her pajama pants while his pulse hammers against her fingertips.

Tick. Tick. Tick.)

He doesn’t answer.

There’s a lot of moving. Shushed whispers. The use of at least one Tesla. 

Helena’s quiet voice. “This way.”

“What’s happening?” Myka gasps again and there’s more moving but now she’s in a car. Curled up in the backseat while world tilts and spins and pain spikes to nearly unbearable levels.

A cool palm sweeps across her face.

“They can’t help you here.” Helena says softly, palm curving against Myka’s cheek. “We’re going where we can help you.”

ix.

“If you love until it hurts, then there can be no more hurt.”

She’s dreaming again.

She’s on the other side of the chain link fence, the wrong side, while Helena and Pete sit on the other side. Pressed shoulder to shoulder.

“That doesn’t make sense.” Myka manages and she knows that her body is still all crystal, that they can both see her insides. “It doesn’t.”

“Sure it does.” Pete declares, grinning at Helena who shakes her head in amusement. Myka’s hands are suddenly hot and she wants to press her palms to the cool metal of the fence but she doesn’t. “I think I read it on a popsicle stick once.”

“It’s a paradox.” Helena offers with a crooked grin, like Myka should know these things and there’s a nagging feeling in the back of her mind that tells her she should.

“Yeah, what she said.” Pete laughs and Myka watches their hands link tightly. “A paradox.”

“If you come over here, Pete and I could show you everything about it.” Helena offers hopefully. “You could reach us both if you tried.”

 

x.

 

“Open your eyes.”

(“Open your eyes.” Helena demands quietly and Myka shakes her head even as Helena’s lips brush against her wet cheeks.

She swore she wouldn’t let this happen. But she knew it would.

Because. Because. Because.

Because things like desire and yearning are relentless. 

Just like life.

Especially like death.

Just ask Sam. 

Myka can’t stop herself from wanting so much which is why she hates herself and loves Helena even as she tugs open the other woman’s slacks and falls to her knees.)

 

She tries to but its too hard. Her muscles feel like lead, like she doesn’t have the strength to pry herself out of the darkness right now. Fingers smooth across her forehead, thin and nimble.

“C’mon, Mykes. Open your eyes.” Claudia pleads again. “I know you can hear me. You have to wake up. I think they’re dying without you.”

She moves away, Myka can feel it.

Then further away, there’s Pete’s tight voice. “This isn’t working!”

 

xi.

 

“There you are.” 

Helena greets quietly as Myka’s eyes flutter open and she immediately recognizes that she’s in her bedroom in the B&B. But everything is shimmering pink and metallic, like she’s trapped in a giant soap bubble with Helena stretched out in her bed beside her.

“I’ve been waiting for you, rather impatiently, I must admit.” Helena says, trying to smile but her façade is cracked and splintered and Myka can see the utter exhaustion lining her face. 

“What’s going on?” Myka wonders and the mask is back, plastic and ill fitting around her nose with the elastic pulled too tight behind her ears. She still hurts but its different now. Her mind isn’t drenched in it and her body isn’t curling in on itself. The pain is still present though, throbbing just below the surface.

(“What’s going on?” Myka wonders as she walks into Pete’s bedroom. The lights are low and the television projects blue dancing light into the corners of the room.

Pete and Helena sitting side by side at the head of the bed, awash in alien light and hands resting in the shadowed space between them. 

Myka stares at the spot, at the possibility of tangled fingers hidden in the darkness and swallows. 

“We are having a movie night.” Helena supplies with a smile. “Join us?”

They shift away from one another just a little, leaving that empty, shadowed space for Myka and its hard for Myka to ignore how she’d fit perfectly there.)

She blinks up at the pink ambiance, shifting and changing while oxygen filters into her mask with a quiet hiss.

“You were injured.” Helena says and her eyes look over Myka’s body. Eyes so keen that for a spinning moment Myka isn’t sure if she’s awake or dreaming, if she’s solid or crystal. “We’ve brought you back to the B&B because the hospital could no longer help you. We’re using The Vogel Crystals to help heal you because the-the artifact that harmed you, that’s why the atmosphere around the room appears-”

“Did I die?” She croaks and Helena’s gaze is even and determined and scared when it meets Myka’s.

“Yes. You did.”

xii.

 

Myka watches them dance.

She’s dreaming again, standing in front of that ever present chain link fence as they sway together slowly. She gazes longingly at Pete’s hands tight around Helena’s hips before meeting his bright eyes over where Helena’s face is tucked against his neck.

“Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known?” Pete says it like its an inside joke. “High school English. Can‘t remember who said it though.”

“It’s Shakespeare.” Myka breathes stepping closer to the fence while they spin in lazy, wobbly circles. She catches Helena’s eyes every time they turn. 

“Smart guy.” Pete declares, pressing his cheek to the top of Helena’s hair.   
“She’s afraid, you know.” Helena’s voice is soft and clear. “She’s terrified.”

“It doesn’t end well.” Myka explains loudly, as loud as she can. “It won’t end well.”

“We know. We know. You’re afraid of the bang.” Pete sighs in frustration as he and Helena turn aimlessly around and around. “But who cares about the ending? What about the beginning? The middle?”

“You’re assuming that explosions can only bring destruction.” Helena exhales, arms wound around Pete’s shoulders. “But and explosion is nothing more than a rapid increase in volume and extreme release of energy. Some of the greatest things in the universe begin with a bang.”

“Come over here, Mykes.” Pete pleads, rounding on her. “I promise you‘ll reach us if you just try.”

“But the fence-” Myka starts.

Helena turns her head, eyes challenging. “She was afraid and, the afraid, she realized, sought opportunities for bravery in love.”

Myka takes a step and, with a deep breath, presses her hands to the fence. It falls easily with a resounding, metallic bang.

xiii.  
She isn’t dying.

At least it feels a lot less like it.

She’s still in bed, Vogel Crystals scattered around the edges of the mattress, projecting a pink, healing atmosphere above the bed.

But Helena is there, asleep to her left, hand tucked against Myka’s neck. And Pete is there, asleep too, at her right with wide fingers splayed against Myka’s belly.

She takes a deep breath and it doesn’t hurt. Their touch feesl like manic energy against her body and Myka closes her eyes and lets it.

 

Toe to toe. Back to back. Lets go, my love, it’s very late.  
Till morning comes let’s tessellate.


End file.
